He was reaching wearily for some kind of buffer to his harrying conscience. Mrs. ‘You do not know how I am like my mother. "Caught!" shouted the head-turnkey. Sheppard trembled violently; and though she understood his meaning too well, she answered,—"I can't guess. “But why, Lucy? Who is it 145 that you are trying to hide from? John?” Lucy closed her eyes in earnest. The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about. If only she had thought to plunge the scissors into her own heart! Hoddy … to return and find her either gone or dead! But even as the Wastrel's arms gathered her, there came the sound of hurrying steps on the veranda. I am not come here to play the part of your father-confessor. Ramage. Sometimes—a lonely forlorn child—she had gone to him and put her arms around his neck.
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